


Of Circumstance

by Sholio



Category: Dark Matter (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Doppelganger, Drugs, F/M, Interrogation, Physical Abuse, but mostly he's high on cuddle pollen, mild dubcon elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 04:30:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12573736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/pseuds/Sholio
Summary: A slight AU for 3x13. Portia still kidnaps/rescues Three, but his interrogators shot him up with drugs first.





	Of Circumstance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [days4daisy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/gifts).



Through corridors jangling with warning klaxons, Portia half-dragged, half-led a stumbling Marc-- Three. He kept trying to talk, but it was a slurred jumble. She wasn't sure if he knew where he was, if he recognized that she wasn't _his_ Portia, or if he could even remember she was there from one moment to the next. She'd tried smacking him back to sanity, but it hadn't worked, and it wasn't as much fun when he didn't seem to notice. Instead he kept sagging into her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded in a spinning world.

"Sit," she ordered, pushing him down into a seat in the Marauder by a firm grip on his bound hands.

"Two," he mumbled, looking up at her with eyes blown completely wide.

"Nope," she answered with a fierce grin and dropped into the pilot's seat. She still didn't know what she was doing, why the hell she'd decided to drag this useless, drugged-to-the-gills jackass with her off the disintegrating station, except that she'd learned never to discard a possible asset. Besides, he was pretty, and it wasn't like Marcus was around at the moment.

"My crew," Three gasped as she disengaged the docking clamps and dropped away. "My crew. Raza. Where --"

"Don't think I won't gag you," she told him, maneuvering deftly around silent explosions and drifting pieces of the station.

"Need to call them," he groaned, head lolling back on the seat.

"Yeah, right."

"Gotta let 'em know ..." He trailed off, took a few deep breaths, and opened his eyes, trying to focus on her. "Let 'em know I'm okay. Make sure they're okay."

"How very touching." And how intriguingly un-Marcus-like, unless he was playing her. "The answer's still no."

He lurched toward the controls, seemed to discover that his hands were cuffed, and collapsed back into the seat, groaning. "Call them," he mumbled.

"Sorry, buddy, you aren't giving the orders. And I," Portia said, inputting the presets for the FTL jump that the Android had given her before she'd come here, "have no intention of letting your crew know I had anything to do with your drugged ass. Last thing I need is them jumping after me."

"Kidnapping," he mumbled.

"Rescuing," she said brightly, flicking a switch to initialize the jump.

Three huffed a sardonic laugh, eyes closed, head rolling against the seat. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his face pale. There was a bright smear of blood across his cheek where she'd split his lip with her attempts to rouse him.

In the forward viewport, the stars blurred out into blue lightning, and Portia sat back in her seat. Got away. No sign of pursuit, from the Raza or anyone else. They'd had other things to worry about.

"My crew," Three whispered, his face rolling to the side, face turning away from her. She wasn't sure if it was meant for her, or a general statement.

She got out of her seat -- the little ship wouldn't need attending for the next few hours, until they dropped out of FTL -- and spun Three's seat around. He was really out of it, though he still moved feebly, eyes fluttering half open and then closing again as if he was fighting against the prison of his own body.

"Hey, there." She straddled him, hauled back, and slapped him hard across the face. His head rolled back, and Portia leaned close to him. "It's time for us to have a chat, my drugged-up friend. You don't think I brought you all this way for your pretty face, did you?" Although it was a nice bonus.

His only response was a loopy smile.

"Tell me what your crew and your Portia are planning."

"Nggghhh."

Goddammit. She sat back and stared down at him. Those fucking _idiots_ had shot him up with so much shit that he was useless even for interrogation. No wonder the guard on him had been so light.

"Hey, asshole," she said, slapping him again, more for the stress relief than because she thought it would do any good. This was gonna be a long damn flight if her only company was a mumbling, drugged-up lunatic. Hell, she'd rather have to deal with Wexler than this. 

His only reaction to the slap was to turn his face into her hand, his scruffy cheek prickling her palm, which made her aware of how much of his limp body had sagged against her while she was all but sitting in his lap ... like he was bonelessly molding himself to her. 

Portia stared down at him, caught up in a peculiar mix of emotions. He looked _so much_ like Marcus. Which, well, wasn't surprising, since he _was_ Marcus, in a very real sense.

But Marcus was never ... vulnerable, like this. She didn't think even a drugged Marcus Boone would be snuggling against her with this kind of helpless abandon unless he wanted something. And that was one of the things she liked best about Marcus. He wasn't complicated. He was a man of few wants and needs, and she knew all of them. Marcus Boone was a great fuck and a decent partner, as trustworthy as partners came in their line of work -- which meant she knew he'd screw her over if the price was right, but she didn't expect him to do it for the cost of a cheap station dinner, unlike that little rat Wexler. She always knew what Marcus was up to. Which, at the moment, was a bender on some station she'd forgotten the name of, assuming he hadn't shacked up with some cute little freighter captain and gone halfway around the galaxy by now.

But he'd be back. He always came back.

And now, as if one Marcus Boone wasn't enough, she'd stupidly saddled herself with _this_ one -- this Boone who had all but draped himself all over her while they were escaping from the station, who worried about his teammates and was currently snuggling into the hand she'd just slapped him with.

The serious urge rose in her to just chuck him out an airlock and have done with it. Three was a complication. A dangerous one. She shouldn't have brought him in the first place.

He murmured something incomprehensible and pressed his face into her hand.

Or she could just fuck him. Give Marcus something to be pissed off about, given that she was already pissed off at him for fucking off to spend a couple of weeks with booze and whores while she was doing the actual work.

She tried grinding her knee into Three's crotch, then leaned forward so her entire torso was pressed against him. She mouthed at his lips, tasting blood.

... and didn't even get a flicker of interest, except maybe a little more snuggling. Dammit. The least they could've done was shoot him up with the really good drugs. Instead they'd just fucked him up to the point where she wasn't even going to be able to have fun with him until it wore off a little. Somnophilia wasn't her idea of a good time, and that was about all it looked like she was going to be able to get out of him right now.

He turned his cheek against hers, and she jerked back as if she was the one who'd been slapped.

"You fucking useless asshole," she told him, and slid out of his lap. He tried to ooze after her, like he didn't want to lose the skin contact. Portia pushed him firmly back into the seat, noticing a bruise starting to rise on his cheekbone to go along with the trickle of blood from the lip she'd split. It made her smile despite her irritation and thwarted arousal: she liked leaving mementos on Marcus, too.

This version might be fun once he sobered up a bit. She might not want complications with Marcus -- she just wanted a good lay and a spare gun hand -- but she found herself intrigued to find out more about this stranger wearing Marcus's face.

And if he failed to be entertaining _or_ useful, she reminded herself, there was always the airlock.


End file.
